Horror Author
I dated a girl
With Borderline Personality Disorder
I cared about her
And I thought she cared about me
It didn’t work out
For multiple reasons
Months later
I thought
Did she care for me
Or did her disorder
Make her think she cared for me
If it was the disorder
Did that mean
I took advantage of her
In that condition
I felt like
The biggest
Piece of shit
On the planet
I didn’t want to be
That kind of person
I didn’t have sex
For four years
From the poetry collection Men Are Garbage.
Happy Halloween!
“time for bed”
my mother said
“you have school in the morning”
she tucked me in
kissed me then
crept away silently
i laid there for a bit
and then the feeling hit
something was watching me
i sat up rather quick
turned the light on which lit
my room and i saw nothing
with a sense of relief
i try to go to sleep
but alas i still feel eerie
over to the closet i sneak
and i hear the door creak
then dive back in bed like a swimmer
oh it’s just the cat
“get out of here Matt”
it’s calm in my room once again
the closet door flies
and something skulks in
in fear i throw the covers over my head
i hear something breathing
i feel my heart racing
i hope i’m just dreaming again
the blankets get yanked off
in the air i am tossed
i land on the floor and crawl under the bed
something grazed my coat
my heart is in my throat
there’s something walking towards me
it’s feet have claws
which probably slice logs
it’s skin is slimy and black
i’m screaming in fear
but nobody hears
and the creature tries to grab me
another comes from the side
and another from behind
they drag me back to the closet from which they came
it’s dark in this place
can’t see my hand on my face
and several monsters are above me
their mouths are wet and slimy
“MOMMY!” i am crying
and like hungry lions they begin to feast
Early poetry from James. From the poetry collection Pariah Bound: The Lonesome Poetry.
Steve’s General Store
It’s a pit-stop store just outside of town.
Steve is the robot that works the counter.
With this job, a human would have a frown.
They all died; it’s been one hundred winters.
Steve carries on like a machine would do.
He completes his duties and tasks with ease.
Better work would only be done by few.
To pass the time, he straightens the pulleys.
A bell rings as someone enters the shop.
A young machine just under a meter.
He requests an oil can for his pop.
Steve picks up one from behind to barter.
The small mechanoid counts out some silver;
Into Steve’s hand, the robot delivers.
A Thought
Jumping – to-and-fro –
Never lingering
To avoid – stagnation –
Going everywhere
Going nowhere
Traveling through time
Bringing pleasure
Bringing pain –
Oh pain
The great reminder –
To be random
Is to daydream
To dream
Is to be free
But never free of me
Expert planning –
Nefarious plotting –
Forgetting where you left
Your keys – the ignition –
The day started poorly
Whisked away
And forgotten
Only to be filled
Replaced –
By another
Manifesting
As dreams – nightmares –
Powered by a muse
A demon
Perhaps both –
Do you
Control me –
Or I you –
The brain the mind the soul
What are we –
Sometimes
You can’t trust me
When emotions are high
And self-esteem – low –
I wouldn’t trust me –
It’s harder for me
To disappear when you –
Write me down – down –
I don’t think I’ve
Ever gone up
Other times
You want to forget me
But – I don’t leave –
Those are bad days –
Haunted – by memories –
From the poetry collection Men Are Garbage.
James Pack 